Captain Jon Kingsley
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: When Jonathan Kingsley was eleven, his brother left in search of a mysterious island and didn't return. Now Jonny himself is a pirate, and he learns the truth about his brother... and his brother's death. This is the tale of Jack Sparrow's brother.
1. Jonathan Kingsley

Disclaimer: I own Jonny, but I don't own Jack. Hmm. I also own Sam, Stormwind, and Kelly. And I actually do own the poems. Yes, I am a poet, a _published_ poet, and not just on the internet either. My poem, "Balance," has been published in an anthology. Any resemblance to real people and places is entirely coincidental. Hablabo hablabo hablabo.

A/N (7/12/04): I'm finally getting around to typing this. I'm not sure how long it's been in my backpack, but it's been there quite a while. Luckily Mithrander didn't eat it. Mithrander is my mini-Balrog. He eats things. Like my homework and the One Ring.

Late one evening during what came to be known as the Golden Age of Piracy, a young man named Jacob Kingsley sat hunched over his desk, stydying a map by lamplight. The map showed the West Indies. He ran his finger across the islands. Ah, there it was: "Here There Be Dragons," in the same spot as on all the other maps.

            Dragons. Figments of the mapmaker's imagination. All it meant was that ships tended to disappear in that area. But why?

The room was quiet, the only noise being the whisper of breath and the clunk of toys as they hit each other. Three people occupied the room, two children and their mother, who embroidered as she watched them play. The elder, the boy, began to grow restless, viewing the light pink walls with disgust. Girl colors. "I'm _bored_," he whined.

            "Here," his mother said. "It's a letter from your brother." She handed him a slip of parchment she had been saving to give to him when he finished playing.

            The boy, Jonathan Kinsley, opened the letter and read it.

            _Dear Jonny,_

_I hope you're having a good time. Work here in the shop has been tedious, but I've discovered a phenomenon I want to investigate._

            "What's a phenomenon?" Jonny asked.

            "I'm not sure," his mother replied. "Ask your father."

            Jonny nodded, then began to read again.

_I'll be leaving __England__ to-morrow. I'm sorry I can't take you with me, but I'm sailing to the __Caribbean__, and it would be too dangerous for you to come. There are pirates in the __Caribbean__, lots of pirates. However, do not worry about me. I'll be fine. Remember, I'm Jacob Kingsley. Nothing can happen to me._

_I'm searching for a place that's only labeled "Here There Be Dragons" on all the maps I've seen. I might be gone as long as a year. If you don't hear from me in a few months, don't worry. It just means I'm busy, or, more likely, the ship carrying my letter got attacked by pirates and is now in the bottom of the sea. Take care of Becca for me, and try not to anger Carlos, all right?_

            Becca was their younger sister, Rebecca, and Carlos was their older brother. Carlos had a temper to match no other, and it was partially to separate Jack from Carlos that their father sent Jack off to be apprenticed to a cartographer.

                        _Tell Mother not to worry about her little sparrow. I'll be fine._

                                                                                    _Your brother,_

                                                                                    _Jack_

            Jonny refolded the letter and put it in his coat pocket. Jack was seventeen, while Jonny was only eleven, but they were still very close, closer than most brothers. "Mommy," he said, "Jack says 'e's goin' to the West Indies, but he says not to worry. Can I go now? I promised my friends I'd meet them by the river."

            His mother looked at him and said, "Go on outside, then. But come back before dark." Her son was always like this, wild, wanting to be free. Just like his older brother, Jacob, who'd been her little sparrow and Jonathan's idol, until his father had him apprenticed to a cartographer.

            Revived, Jonny sprinted down the stairs, past beautiful tapestries done in bright golds and reds and greens, out the giant oak doors that served as the main entrance, down the dirt path to the stream. There he slowed, waiting for his friends to show up, letting the cool water trickle over his bare feet. Moments later, the single-masted sailboat he'd seen out the window appeared around the bend, and he leapt aboard.

            "We're pirates today," announced Kelly, the only girl among them and a right bossy lass, "so we've got to vote on who's our Captain. Brian says so, an' he should know, 'cause his dad's a pirate."

            His father would be furious to know that Jonny was consorting with such low-lifes as the son of a pirate, but Jonny didn't care. They were his friends, and that was all that mattered.

            "What're we waiting for, then, mates?" Jonny asked. "Let's vote!"

            "I nominate Jonny as Captain," Kelly declared. "All in favor, say 'aye'!" There was a chorus of "ayes." "All opposed, say 'nay'!" Silence. "Jonny is Captain!"

            They set off down the river, laughing and shoving each other playfully. Suddenly, the boy, Jonny, was shoved into the water. He came up spluttering, shivering from the cold, then immediately plunged back under. His feet touched the bottom, sand and stones smoothed by decades of erosion. He opened his eyes. The view was strange, enlarged but blurred. His lungs screamed for air. Something glinted in the sand, and he reached down to pick it up. It was a gold ring. Impulsively, he put it in his pocket.

            Then thin arms dragged him up, up towards the life-giving air, and he gasped, filling his lungs, gulping in oxygen. He looked at his rescuer, and saw that it was Kelly. More arms lifted him back into the boat.

            Kelly shoved Brian, who spat at her. "No fighting aboard the ship."

            "Mutineer!" someone accused. "He attacked the Captain!"

            "Who do you think you are, givin' orders on my ship?" Jonny demanded of Brian. "Think yer a better Captain, eh? We'll settle this once an' fer all! Lower the anchor! This upstart an' I are gonna mudwrestle!"

            "Yay! Mudwrestling!" the others cheered. It was their favorite sport.

            Kelly leapt over the side with a rope and swam to shore, where she tied the rope around a tree.

            "Witch!" Brian accused.

            "She's no witch. She saved my life, after you tried t' kill me. After I beat you, she's gonna teach th' whole crew how t' swim." Jonny balanced on the prow of the ship for a moment before jumping to shore.

            They tramped a good ways through the grass before they reached a good mud pit. There the two boys rolled up their sleeves and began to wrestle. Brian was taller and stronger, fro helping unload ships, and at first it seemed that he would win. But then Jonny hooked one of his legs around Brian and tripped the older boy, thereby winning the fight. "Cheater!" Brian accused. "He's even tryin' t' cheat th' sea!"

            When he got home that afternoon, drenched and splattered with mud, Carlos was waiting for him. Carlos was his oldest brother, and their father's favorite, despite his tendency to gamble away any money that came into his hands. Carlos was the only one who resembled Father physically: heavily muscled and more prone to sunburn than tan. Both Jacob and Jonny had more slender builds (Carlos called them delicate), and tanned so darkly they resembled the mulatto slave children. What with Jacob's appearance and his swaying walk that was supposed to be a swagger, their father would have suspected him of being fey were he not such a womanizer. That was bad enough; worse was the fact that they were about ten times as smart as their parents.

            'Oh, look," Carlos sneered. "It's the little piglet come back from rolling in the mud."

            Jonny was gathering himself together for a scathing retort when he remembered Jack's words: _Try not to anger Carlos._ Meaning: _Don't show off how smart you are._

            _In that case,_ thought Jonny, _all I need to do is pretend that he's actually getting to me, and it'll make him happy._

            _I hate him! _he thought to himself, over and over, letting his rage overcome the calm, logical part of him that was usually in control. Tears of frustration began rolling down his cheeks, and Carlos laughed. He almost lost it then, as the logical part reasserted itself. This was actually fun, deceiving Carlos. Certainly Carlos would now pick on him more often, but Carlos's insults were amusing, whereas the beatings he gave when Jonny stood up to him were painful. He fled upstairs to his room before he could give himself away.

            The next morning he met Kelly by the lake which fed the river where they normally played. Nobody else was there. "They didn't want to incur Brian's wrath," Kelly explained.

            That day she showed him several strokes and taught him to tread water. He was a quick learner, especially after he understood the dynamics of swimming. He had some trouble with the front crawl—it took several months before he got the hang of breathing to the side—but other than that, he learned at an amazing pace. Soon they would swim to the deeper water to try to dunk each other under, and shortly after that they took to swimming down the river to splash their playmates.

            His father thought he was growing too wild, and so had him placed in school with the other highborn children. He marched Jonny to the school one morning and informed the teacher that he was to use any means necessary to teach the boy proper behavior. The teacher simply nodded and continued the lesson, which was on long multiplication.

            "Can anybody tell me the product of sixty-four and sixteen?" he asked, writing the problem on the blackboard with a piece of chalk.

            Jonny raised his hand.

            "Yes, Kingsley? Did you have a question?"

            His condescending tone struck Jonny's smart-alec nerve. "Aye. May I enlighten this extraordinary class about the answer to your problem?"

            The teacher's expression made it clear that he was simply humoring this upstart newcomer, and expected to cut him down to size when he gave the wrong answer. "Go ahead." He held out the chalk, expecting Jonathan to come to the front of the room and try to work it out on the board.

            "One thousand twenty-four," Jonny responded without rising from his seat.

            The teacher began to shake his head, then caught himself when he realized Jonny had given the correct answer. "How did you get that?" he demanded.

            Jonny shrugged. "Counted doubles, sir."

            "Excuse me?" the teacher said. "What do you mean, 'counted doubles'?"

            Jonny explained, "Sixteen is one doubled four times, so I simply doubled sixty-four four times to get the answer. It's really quite simple," he added with a deprecating shrug.

            He took to studying maps in his spare time at school, thinking to become a cartographer like his brother. The older ones were full of places marked "Here There Be Dragons." He spent long hours fantasizing about the giant reptiles until he found newer maps, marking the areas as coral reefs or rocky islands.

            One dreary day, not mysterious or misty but overcast, with a drizzling sort of rain that managed to find every single leak, the teacher brought up the subject of poetry. Jonny was all set to ignore him as he usually did (poetry, in his opinion, was tediously boring), when the teacher began to read a poem that caught his interest.

                        _My mogher calls me Sparrow, and my father calls me Lad;_

                        _One brother calls me Hero and the other calls me Bad;_

                        _To Sister, I'm Protector; but it matters not to me;_

                        _I'm a sailor, pure and simple, and I'm going out to Sea._

            Obviously the poem had been written by his brother Jack, and it was the best poetry Jonny had ever heard. If the rest of the lesson was to be like this, it might just be worth the effort to pay attention.

            However, amid sniggers from most of the students, the teacher explained that _this_ was _bad_ poetry, and proceeded to read an example of _good_ poerty (more of the boring stuff Jonny despised). Meanwhile, Jonny set to writing his own poem.

            The day before, he'd received a letter from his brother, and he thought about it as he wrote.

            _Dear Jonny,_

_Sorry I didn't write you sooner, but I've been rather busy. It's no excuse, I know, but I hope you'll understand. First the search, and then—but best not trust that to paper; there's no knowing who might read this before it gets to you._

            That set off alarm bells in Jonny's head. His brother Jack was carefree, had no worries. Why was he now worrying about who might read the letter?

_I wrote to tell you that I found the island marked "Here There Be Dragons." No dragons, I'm sad to say, just an island with a great number of hidden dangers, and a great deal of gold._

_I am now learning to be a sailor. I've made two friends, Samuel and William—you could've guessed the latter, since every other tar's name is William. Good men, both of them._

_I don't know when I'll be coming home, but it probably won't be soon. Take care._

                                                _Your brother,_

                                                _Jack_

                        _"Here There Be Dragons,"_

                        _The old map proclaims._

                        _For many lost ships,_

_These "dragons" it blames._

_The ships can't return,_

_To tell the true tale_

_Of storm-winds that drove_

_The ship like a gale.___

_The ship can't return,_

_To tell of the reef;_

_The reef, not dragons,_

_That brought so much grief._

_So "Here There Be Dragons,"_

_On maps it does show:_

_These are the places_

_Where ships must not go.___

            He didn't realize that the class had gone silent until a large shadow obscured his light. He looked up to see the teacher looming over him. "What are you doing?"

            "I'm writing poetry, sir. What does it look like I'm doing?"

            "It looks like you're not paying attention. Class dismissed. Kingsley, stay."

            The others filed out, smirking at Jonny. When they were gone, the teacher took out a paddle. "Bend over." He gave Jonny three good, hard whacks, then let him go.

            Mother noticed his slight limp, despite his efforts to conceal it. "Are you all right?"

            "Fine, fine," he assured her, leaning against a wall because his backside was too tender for him to sit.

            Meanwhile, he had still been visiting the lake every day to swim with Kelly. They were becoming good friends—more than friends—and he hoped his father would approve, though he doubted it. Perhaps, when they got older, they could elope.


	2. Stormwind Sam

One day, he arrived a few minutes late, approaching the lake at a run so he wouldn't me any later, rehearsing his apology in his mind as he ran, only to find that Kelly wasn't there. He waited several minutes, thinking perhaps she was late as well, not wanting to leave and miss her and not say good-bye, but when an hour passed and she didn't arrive, he began to get worried. He had just made up his mind to go look for her when she appeared, breathing hard. She looked about her furtively, then grabbed his arm and dragged him into the trees. "I'm not allowed to see you any more. My parents think you're a bad influence on me. I have to stay home. To learn to be a lady. Promise you won't forget me?"  
"I promise," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. His right hand encountered something cold and hard, and he took it out: a ring. "Here. Take it. To remember me. I'm going away, too. My father thinks it'd do me good to be cabin-boy on a merchant ship. Says maybe I'll stop wantin' t' be a pirate."  
She took a ring off her own finger and gave it to him. It was silver, with a single pearl set into it. "Come back for me. When you've got a ship of your own. Captain."  
"I will," he promised. Sadly, he watched her leave, knowing he wouldn't see her for at least two years.  
Two years later, when his ship returned to the harbor, he hardly recognized her. He had planned to tell her about all of his adventures, exaggerated only a little: how he'd seen a pirate ship, how they'd been caught in a storm, how the crew had come down with some illness and he'd had to work the lines. But when he saw her in that light blue dress, wearing a bonnet to keep the sun from burning her face, he felt suddenly shy.  
"Still want to be a pirate?" she asked.  
He nodded cautiously.  
"Here." She shoved a bundle of black cloth into his arms and left him standing there, feeling confused.  
"What ye got thar?" asked Picklee, one of his fellow sailors.  
"Dunno," Jonny admitted. "Gift from my girl."  
"Got a sweetheart already, eh? Good fer you, boy. Mighty strange gift she gives ye, though."  
He didn't unfold the cloth until several days later, as they were leaving the harbor. White on black, skull with crossed swords: a pirate flag. Quickly, he rolled it into a ball, hiding the design.  
The first run was uneventful, six weeks of clear blue skies and steady winds, selling their cargo at Nassau, then six weeks of travel back to England with another load of cargo. The second run began the same as the first, though the winds were not as favorable and the journey took eight weeks.  
Everything changed when they entered the Caribbean Sea.  
The day dawned clear, as had all the days before it (except the one when there were clouds blocking the sun, and they feared a storm which never came), and, as always, Jonny the cabin boy rose with the sun. He completed his tasks quickly, having grown strong and adept these past two years, and climbed the ladder to the deck to see if he could help the crew in any way.  
"Sure can," said one of the men, chewing on some tobacco. He spit over the side of the ship. "Go 'elp the lookout in th' crow's nest. 'E thinks 'e's seen summat; maybe yer young eyes kin tell whether he's jes' imaginin' thangs."  
So up Jonny went, up and up and up, until the ship was the size of a person and the people were the size of ants, and each tiny wave caused him to tip dangerously over the water. Terrified, he clung to the mast. Then he thought of the crew standing at the bottom, pointing and laughing. He knew they made fun of him behind his back; no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't one of them. He was the son of a wealthy landowner, and they were common tars, as common as tar. His skin was tanned from too much sun, and his palms were calloused from too much work, but he was still a young lord, who couldn't do a man's work to save his life. Well, this was the life he wanted, wasn't it? A sailor's life. When I get back down, he vowed to himself, I will laugh right along with them, an' say that I almost wet myself with fear, an' that it was worse than my first few days aboard the ship, when I couldn't take a step without stumbling. But first I have to get to the top. A gust of wind blew his hat off his head. He grabbed for it, almost losing his grip. For a moment, his resolve weakened. He swallowed hard, then resumed his climb.  
Once in the relative safety of the crow's nest, he looked out across the water in the direction of the lookout's gaze. Yes, there was a ship. A very fast ship, approaching them from behind. As he watched, the blurry flag came down, to be replaced by a flapping black rectangle with a white design. "Pirates!" he yelled, clambering down the ropes, his heart beating so hard he feared it might escape his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps. "Pirates!" he repeated when he reached the deck. It was unnecessary; by this time the entire crew could see the black flag.  
When the pirates boarded the ship, everyone threw down their weapons and allowed themselves to be herded onto the pirate vessel, while the pirates searched the merchant ship. One came back, a black cloth draped over his arms. He held it up before the prisoners and shook it, revealing the skull and crossed swords design. "Any of you recognize this?"  
No one spoke. Everyone's attention was riveted on the deck or on the pirate's evil-looking eye-patch.  
Jonny looked around him and swallowed. "It's mine. My girl made it for me."  
The pirate squinted at him. The one-eyed gaze gave Jonny the willies. "You look awful familiar, boy. Have we met before?"  
"No," Jonny said in a voice barely above a whisper. He was certain he'd have remembered meeting a man with only one eye.  
The pirate shook his head. "No, I suppose not. But I coulda sworn I'd seen you afore." Nor was he the only one.  
Jonny, along with the majority of the crew, went "on the account," as it was termed, signing an agreement to become a pirate until everyone had acquired at least £1000, and to obey the code of conduct on the ship. Those who opted not to go on the account were dropped off at an inlet a few miles from Nassau.  
The whispers followed Jonny wherever he went. "I swear I've seen 'im afore," they'd say, their gazes following him as he swaggered across the deck in an unconscious imitation of his older brother.  
There was one crew member whom everyone avoided. Sam, they called him, or Stormwind, and he certainly seemed as foreboding as a storm at sea. But Jonny noticed that he never went out at night, only during the day, and at night he avoided the patches of moonlight that shone through the windows. This relieved him, although the pirate's way of looking at him, as if he could see all the way to his innermost thoughts, still unnerved him.  
One evening in the mess hall, he decided he'd had enough. He gave his bandana one final tug to get it comfortable. There was a reason he wore it, besides the fact that he was a pirate now. Without his hat, his shoulder-length hair kept getting in his face, so he'd begged a strip of red cloth from one of the pirates in order to tie it around his forehead to keep his hair back.  
Now he stared insolently back at Stormwind, daring the man to do something. To his surprise, the man began to grin. He'd never seen him so much as smile, and the grin startled him. It was lopsided, he noticed absently. A half-hearted half-grin that bespoke of painful memories.  
Then the man spoke, the first time he'd done so in Jonny's hearing. "Give 'im a beard an' a mustache an' 'e'd look like Jack Sparrow." Scattered laughter. A few nods of agreement. "Come over 'ere, son, so I c'n talk wi' ye wi'ou' shoutin' across th' room."  
Not sure what else to do, Jonny obeyed. He sat down on an upturned barrel across from Stormwind.  
"What's yer name, boy?"  
"Jon," he replied, giving the name he went by on this pirate ship.  
"Full name," Stormwind grunted.  
Jonny didn't plan to say anything, but those hard blue eyes seemed to bore holes in him, and he spoke almost in self-defense. "Jonathan Kingsley."  
Something flickered briefly over Stormwind's face, too fleeting for Jonny to identify. "Are you by any chance related to Jacob Kingsley?"  
"Jacob?" Jonny repeated, leaning forward eagerly. He'd had no news of his brother in years, not since Jack had sailed to the West Indies in search of a legendary island that didn't appear on any maps. "You knew 'im? How is 'e? Is 'e a pirate?"  
"He's dead," Stormwind replied in a flat voice. "I take it he was your brother?"  
Jonny opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Unable to speak, he could only nod. Dead. He's dead. Jacob was dead. It couldn't be true, but it was.  
"I'm sorry," Stormwind told him. He truly seemed to mean it.  
Jonny shook his head as he wiped angrily at his tear-filled eyes. "It's not your fault."  
"Oh, but it is," Stormwind whispered, as if to himself. "Barbossa's fault, really, but I was there. I was there, an' I didn't do anythin' t' stop 'im."  
"Tell me everything," Jonny demanded.  
"I met 'im when 'e was seventeen. 'E was a passenger aboard a merchant ship we attacked. We were goin' t' drop 'im off near some harbor, but 'e said no, 'e wanned t' go on th' account. So we signed 'im on an' I taught 'im th' ropes. 'E was a quick learner. A few months ago, we attacked a merchant ship, a good, fast ship we decided t' keep. Made Jacob Captain. 'E renamed th' ship th' Black Pearl. 'E sailed to Tortuga wi' only me an' Bootstrap an' Barbossa, an' we picked up a crew wi' th' intention o' goin' t' th' Isla de Muerta. Three days out, th' crew mutinied." Now there was a haunted look in his eyes, as if he were reliving the experience, and didn't like it one bit. "We marooned 'im on an island an' left 'im to die. That's th' last I ever saw of 'im. I returned to the island later, but I couldn't even find a body to bury. Musta been washed out to sea."  
"Why?" Jonny asked. "Why did you do it?"  
Stormwind spread his arms helplessly. "For gold...and madness."  
"I hate you." 


	3. Captain Jack Sparrow

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am a poor author with nothing to my name but a single rejection slip. Woo-hoo! I got a rejection slip! Does the happy-dance.

A/N (4/2/05): Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Actually, my excuse is that I lost the story. See, my room is a disaster area, and I even managed to lose an entire pile of papers under a pile of other junk, and in one pile of papers I managed to lose a tube of toothpaste. Just to give you an idea how bad it is. But I recently cleaned the room (or at least the papers) and found this story. So….

The first fight was always the most memorable. Jonny's was no exception. The merchant ship surrendered at the first sight of the black flag, but that didn't matter. The pounding of his heart alone would assure that he remembered this for the rest of his life. There wasn't much gold aboard the ship, but there was silk, and silk was worth more than its weight in gold. They sold the silk at an out-of-the-way harbor and headed for Tortuga to find ways to spend their newfound fortune.

The pirates' haven was a terrifyingly active place, full of noise and danger. The crew headed straight for various taverns. Jonny picked one called the _Faithful Bride._ _Oh, no,_ he realized. _That's Stormwind at that table o'er there._ He was about to move when he heard an almost-familiar voice.

"Sam."

Stormwind's face turned white. "Jack?"

"Disappointed to see me alive, mate?" the newcomer asked, sitting down across from Stormwind. He had his back to Jonny, so the boy couldn't get a good look at his face. But he had his suspicions. He'd voice them as soon as he got up the nerve to speak. _Jacob—could it really be him? God, please let it be Jacob._

"Not disappointed," Stormwind said. "Not disappointed at all. Scared shitless is more like it. Thought ye were a ghost."

"Jacob?" Jonny managed to force past the lump in his throat.

Jack glanced at Jonny, but turned back to Stormwind before the boy could get a good look at his face. "Who's the kid?"

Stormwind grinned. Lopsided again, but not half-hearted anymore. "Cabin boy we picked up abou' a month ago. Says 'is name is Jonathan Kingsley."

Now Jack turned and stayed turned. "Jonny? Is it really you?"

"I could ask the same of you, Jack," Jonny retorted, still hardly daring to believe this was true.

On his head Jack wore a red bandana, which was hardly visible under his tricorn hat. There was some sort of black paint around his eyes. In the three years since Jonny had last seen him, he'd grown a beard and mustache.

"Oi! Beautiful!" Jack called to one of the barmaids. "Bring the kid some rum, darling." He grinned at Jonny, then his expression turned mock-serious. "By the way, son, it's Captain Jack Sparrow now, an' don't you forget it."

"No wonder they said I looked like you—_son_," Jonny replied. _Of course I look like my brother!_

Jack winced. "I may 'ave deserved that."

Jonny sipped his rum cautiously. He was pleasantly surprised by the taste. The talk turned to women and loot, and Jonny listened without really comprehending what was said. Only one thing mattered: his brother was still alive.

Days later, they sat together again, in another tavern in another port. Jack and Stormwind now seemed to be friends, although Jonny couldn't understand how that was possible. He still hated Stormwind, and he told the man as much.

Stormwind shrugged. "I'll 'ave t'remember that, so's when I get a ship o' me own I won' ask ye t'be part o' me crew."

"I wouldn't want t'be part o' yer crew, mate," Jonny retorted.

"Your loss. I'm gonna get me th' fastest damn ship in th' Caribbean."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Ha. You could _make_ yer own bloody ship an' it still wouldn't be faster than the _Pearl_"

"The _Black __Pearl_?" a nearby serving girl asked.

"Aye," Jack confirmed. "Ave ye 'eard of it?"

The girl nodded. "It attacked a town just south of 'ere last week. I 'eard about it from a second cousin once removed on my mother's side. She was there when it happened."

"Tell ye what." Jack pulled out a gun. "See this pistol? One shot, meant for one man. Barbossa. Bloody Barbossa, captain of the cursed crew." He was about to put it away when another serving girl came to tell them that there were soldiers coming. All the pirates got up to leave. By unspoken agreement, Stormwind, Jack, and Jonny were the last to go. That was how they ended up being the only ones left when the soldiers arrived.

"Stay where you are," they were told. "Drop your weapons and keep your hands where we can see them."

They bolted in three different directions. Jonny went toward the soldiers, who were so surprised they let him pass without trying to stop him. He would have escaped if he hadn't slipped on a discarded banana peel. He slipped under a table as the soldiers made up their minds to give chase, and they ran right past him, not knowing where he was.

He stood up, banging his head on the bottom of the table. Once he'd regained his feet, he drew his sword with a flourish, which caused it to fly out of his hand and embed itself in the rafters. When the soldiers came for him, he leapt up and caught hold of the sword. After they were past, the sword came free, and he landed in a heap. He leapt to his feet and ran out the door.

Before long the soldiers caught him. _So much for running away.__ I wonder if they're dumb enough to fall for this?_ "Help! They're after me! The pirates! They kidnapped me!"

"What's your name, son?"

"Kingsley. Jonathan Kingsley."

"Son of the Matthew Kingsley of the Kingsley Plantation?"

Jonny nodded.

The soldiers put him on a ship going to the plantation. His father was indifferent to his arrival, except for a few choice words about his appearance. His mother was overjoyed. "Jonathan! Oh, you're alright! But look at you. What happened to you?"

"I was kidnapped by pirates, mum," Jonny said excitedly. "But I fought them off in a tavern and the Navy came and I was able to escape."

His father tried to keep him busy with the work of overseeing the plantation. It did keep him busy, but not in the way his father had envisioned.

No sooner had he been shown the fields where the slaves labored to grow sugarcane than he realized that he could never, _ever_ hold another human being in bondage. Freedom was too precious for him to take it away from them. He couldn't free them, not right now, but he _could_ help them. And he could win their trust, so that later they would follow him to freedom. So he took of his new hat and placed it on the head of a little girl toiling in the field, took of his coat, and set to work beside the slaves.

His father was furious. "Young man," he roared that evening, "your place is helping your family, not toiling in the fields alongside the scum of the earth!"

_They're better people than you'll ever be!_ Jonny thought angrily. But he couldn't actually say it. He was always helpless like this whenever he faced his father, and now he was angry at himself for being so helpless. Finally he burst, yelling the first thing that came to mind besides piracy and freedom. "Don't you understand? Jacob is dead. Dead! One of those pirates that kidnapped me, he told me the whole story. He and his mates marooned Jacob on an island and left him to die. He _laughed_ about it. Thought it was _funny._"

"My little sparrow is dead," his mother whispered. He wanted to tell her no, you little sparrow is very much alive. Stormwind and the rest killed Jacob Kingsley, but in his place is your little sparrow: _Jack_ Sparrow. But he said nothing.

The next day they let him work in the fields, figuring it was his way of dealing with his grief. They both knew how much he'd admired his brother.

In a way, the labor was his escape. While he worked, he didn't have to think. And his older brother Carlos never came to the fields, so, for a while, he could be free of that scourge.

His father began to suspect he was infatuated with the mulatto girl Anamaria—an absurd assumption, since he still thought of Kelly at least once a day—so she was reassigned as his sister Rebecca's maid.

After a while, as his body became accustomed to the hard labor, and he stopped dropping off to sleep as soon as he fell into bed, he found that he had trouble sleeping, and for all the opposite reasons he hadn't been able to sleep his first few nights at sea. Now the bed was too soft, the room was too big, the floor didn't rise and fall with the waves. So he stumbled down the stairs to the slaves' quarters, figuring he could at least fix two of the problems. He found an empty room—little more than a broom closet, really—with a good, hard cot, and managed to fall asleep.

Years passed, with Jonny staying at the plantation because he refused to return to England. Becca also stayed, she said because she didn't want to be near Carlos.

A package came, and Jonny opened it to find his old Jolly Roger that Kelly had made for him. He wondered how she was faring, and whether she still loved him. Absently he fingered the ring, which now hung on a chain around his neck.

During the next visit, he begged his father for a ship, and permission to recruit slaves to crew it—"So I don't have to pay them," he explained. His father gave him permission, and he set to work.

A year later, when Becca was sixteen and about to be married to some rich husband who would probably keep her locked in the house all day, she ran away with her maid Anamaria, presumably to the maroons, those runaway slaves who infested the wilder parts of the land around Port Royal. Jonny promised his father he would find her, then sailed away with his crew of negroes to the inlet where pirates would make berth in order to trade with the maroons. As soon as they were our of sight of Port Royal, he ran up the Jolly Roger, proclaiming himself a pirate once more.

"Are we really going to return Miss Rebecca to the Master?" young Willy asked.

Jonny shook his head. "I'm jes' gonna make sure she's safe, tha's all. By the way, yer free now. Ye can stay on wi' me, or leave, as ye like."

A few slaves decided to live with the maroons, but most stayed with Jonny. They trusted him, and that was worth a lot.

He asked the maroons if they'd seen his sister. They said yes, but she and Anamaria had left the day before with none other than Captain Jack Sparrow. They said his name with awe, and asked if Jonny had ever met him.

"Oh, I've met 'im, alright. Good man, Jack Sparrow. I trust me sister with 'im more than with any other man." _He'll take care of Becca, I know he will. She's his sister, too._


End file.
